


Approval

by youcouldmakealife



Series: Impaired Judgment (and other excuses) [26]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-05-01 17:45:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14525916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: “We’d like to meet Bryce,” his mom says over dinner. Or maybe Jared should revise dinner toa trap. “Since this seems…serious. Maybe he can come to dinner?”Jared shifts uncomfortably. “Does he um…have to?”





	Approval

Things are just starting to get kind of back on track — they’re a little tentative, but the key honestly helps a lot with managing to see each other more, even if it’s snatches of twenty minutes or an hour that their schedules line up, and like…Bryce is in love with him. In love. With him — when Jared’s parents decide to just blow up his entire life.

Okay, maybe that’s a little dramatic. A little. Not _very_ , but a little.

“We’d like to meet Bryce,” his mom says over dinner. Or maybe Jared should revise dinner to _a trap_. “Since this seems…serious. Maybe he can come to dinner?”

Jared shifts uncomfortably. “Does he um…have to?”

“We’d like him to,” she says.

“Dad?” Jared says. “You want to meet Bryce? Um. Properly?”

He’s hoping his dad will say no, but instead he sighs, says, “If he’s going to be sticking around.”

And he is, like, at least if Jared has a say about it, and the whole mutual exchange of ‘I love you’s and a fucking _key_ kind of imply he’s sticking around, so. 

Fuck.

*

Jared doesn’t know if he wants Bryce to say no. Well, he does want Bryce to say no, but he doesn’t think his parents would be particularly impressed with Bryce if he did, and Bryce is already coming from behind with them, especially Jared’s dad. Jared doesn’t even want to ask him, but like, if he doesn’t they’re going to _assume_ Bryce said no, so. 

“I’d love to,” Bryce says, when Jared reluctantly brings it up.

“I — really?” Jared says. “You’d _love_ to? _Really_?”

“Well,” Bryce says. “Like, they’re your family.”

“Yeah,” Jared says. “Unfortunately.”

“C’mon,” Bryce says. “Like, it’s good they want to meet me, right?”

“Unless it’s a trap,” Jared mutters.

“A trap to do _what_?” Bryce asks. He’s laughing at Jared, which Jared does not appreciate.

“I don’t know,” Jared says. “Scare you off?”

“Not going to happen,” Bryce says.

“You say that now…” Jared says.

“Jared I don’t know your middle name Matheson, I fucking love you,” Bryce says. “Your family isn’t going to scare me off.”

“Bradley,” Jared says. 

“What?” Bryce asks.

“My middle name,” Jared says.

“And you make fun of Bryce?” Bryce asks.

“Hey!” Jared says. “It’s a family name! What’s your excuse?”

“I wasn’t really, like, involved in being named,” Bryce says.

“Yeah, but if you were you totally would have picked a name like Bryce,” Jared says. “I know you.”

Bryce is grinning.

“What?” Jared asks.

“Jared Bradley Matheson, I love you,” Bryce says. 

“You’re really milking this love thing, huh?” Jared says, grinning.

Bryce pokes his knee. “Say it back,” he says.

“I dunno,” Jared says, “I don’t want to like, wear it out or anything.”

Bryce pouts at him. “Say it back,” he repeats, poking Jared’s knee repeatedly.

“Oh my god, I love you, you complete loser,” Jared says. “Happy now?”

“Yeah,” Bryce says, his grin back, and Jared kisses it right off his face.

*

It’s kind of hard to work out a day for dinner, considering two hockey schedules and the fact that Jared’s parents both sometimes work evenings, but they manage to swing a Thursday a little over a week after Jared brings it up, right after Bryce gets home from a roadie and the night before Jared’s set to head out for a short one of his own. 

Bryce asks Jared to like, come _with_ him to dinner, which is kind of weird, since Jared, you know, lives at home, but also works out pretty well, because that means he has some time to chill at Bryce’s after school, Jared scratching at stubble burn on his hip and watching Bryce pull a suit from his closet like he’s getting ready for a game, not dinner, his beautiful ass disappearing under dress pants. Goodbye, ass. 

“Dude,” Jared says, when Bryce, shirtless, surveys his massive tie collection. “You can’t wear a _tie_.”

“I want them to know I’m taking this seriously,” Bryce says.

“Can’t you take it, like, khakis and a polo seriously?” Jared says.

“No,” Bryce says stubbornly.

“Dress shirt without a jacket or tie?” Jared begs.

Bryce considers. “I’m wearing the jacket,” he says. 

Well. At least Jared bargained him down from the tie. Small victories.

*

Jared starts feeling kind of tense on the drive over, and he doesn’t know if it’s contagious or what, because Bryce starts rambling about, like, everything that happened in the past week, even things he’s already told him about, will jump from subject to subject with barely a pause for breath. Jared’s figured out by now that’s Bryce’s nervous habit, filling the silence with whatever he can think of. It’s kind of cute, if Jared thinks about the fact Bryce barely paused for breath during that picnic…well, Jared considers it their first date in hindsight — but right now it’s ramping up his own nerves. 

He’d tell Bryce to take a damn breath and be quiet, but he has zero faith it’d work, and anyway, at least he can focus on something other than wondering how fucking awful his dad’s going to behave when he won’t even cheer for his damn team if Bryce is the one doing the scoring. Then there’s his mom, who’s a complete wild card — could be polite like she usually is with guests, could be evil — and Erin, who is _definitely_ going to be evil. Jared warned Bryce about Erin, but he doesn’t think Bryce really _got_ the warning since he’s an only child. Lucky guy.

Jared bites his lip, hard, so he doesn’t beg Bryce to turn around.

Bryce parks around the block rather than in the driveway, and Jared doesn’t know if he’s like, trying to hide his stupid gaudy car — too late, dad obviously saw it — or stalling. Jared understands wanting to stall. He could really use, like, a sudden medical emergency: sorry minor heart attack, gotta reschedule for never.

Bryce brushes his knuckles against Jared’s with every step, too often to be an accident, and Jared nudges back once they step onto the porch, tangles their fingers briefly before letting go to dig into his pocket for the key.

He hasn’t gotten it out before Bryce rings the doorbell, which is stupid because, like, Jared obviously has a key, and also because of the sign says ‘please knock — doorbell broken’ beside their doorbell, because, you know. The doorbell’s broken.

“Please tell me you know how to read,” Jared says despairingly.

“I know how to read!” Bryce says. “I text you all the time!”

Jared guesses that’s true, though it does lead to the follow-up question ‘do you know how to write?’

Bryce presses the doorbell again. “Hey, did you know your doorbell doesn’t work?”

Jared has a feeling this is going to go very, very badly. 

“It worked last time I was here,” Bryce says. He sounds like the doorbell’s personally betrayed him.

“Hey,” Bryce says, as Jared hip checks him to the side so he can unlock the door. “We can’t just walk in! I want to make a proper first impression!”

“Your first impression was with your dick in my hand,” Jared says. “No recovering from that.”

“Yeah,” Bryce says, sounding downtrodden.

“Hey,” Jared says, then with confidence he doesn’t feel, “You’ll be fine, okay?”

“I hope so,” Bryce says, not sounding particularly confident about it himself, and he looks kind of — rattled, maybe, more rattled than Jared’s seen him, just because he’s meeting Jared’s parents, like it matters _that much_ what they think of him, and Jared desperately wants to kiss him. It’s getting dark out, but that definitely doesn’t mean no one’s looking out their windows being nosy, so Jared can’t risk it, but he hooks a finger in Bryce’s belt loop, leans into him a little.

“It’ll be okay,” Jared murmurs.

“Yeah?” Bryce says, kind of husky, leaning back into Jared, and of course, of _course_ , that’s when Erin opens the door. Jared guesses it’s good that it isn’t his dad this time, at least? His dad seems kind of tired of catching them plastered together. Or like. During an aborted handjob.

Bryce takes two steps back, and Jared glares at Erin.

“Hey,” Bryce says, shoots that beautiful grin at her, and Jared is not annoyed that he’s sending it in his stupid sister’s direction. He’s not. “I’m Bryce. You’re Erin, right?”

“Um,” Erin says. “Hi, Bryce. I. Um. Yeah, I’m Jared’s sister — uh. Erin.”

She’s blushing. She’s fucking _blushing_ , and all of Jared’s annoyance is replaced by complete glee. 

“You gonna let him in, or just stand there?” Jared asks.

“Oh!” Erin says, then steps aside.

“You just forgot your own name,” Jared whispers to Erin as he follows Bryce inside, and she elbows him in the ribs. Hard. Like, Jared is used to shaking off checks, but damn, who knew she had that in her? Fuck, _ow_.

Worth it, Jared decides. 

The house smells really good, like either his mom or his dad worked hard on dinner — probably his mom, because Jared can’t see his dad spending an hour or more cooking for Bryce — and between that and Erin, who’s still hilariously blushy, Jared lets himself hope for a moment, though that only lasts right up until his parents come out of the kitchen.

“Nice to see you Mrs. Matheson,” Bryce says.

“Call me Susan,” she says. “And you’ve met Don.”

“Hi Mr. Matheson,” Bryce says, which is kind of a relief. Jared doesn’t know what would happen if Bryce actually called him Don.

Jared half expects him to grunt, but he doesn’t. Still, his, “Hi,” is not exactly warm.

“I brought wine?” Bryce asks, reaching into the bag he brought, one Jared hadn’t given much thought to. “And um. Chocolates? And flowers.”

“Jared’s not old enough to drink,” his dad says flatly, which is kind of rich, because Jared has definitely had wine with dinner on special occasions. Like, a half a glass, but his dad was generally the one pouring it.

“I— it’s for you,” Bryce says. “For dinner.”

“Considering your history, I think we’d prefer no alcohol at the table,” his dad adds.

Jared gives his mom a desperate look.

“The flowers are beautiful,” she says, thankfully taking pity on them both. “Thank you, Bryce. I’ll go find a vase.”

“You’re welcome,” Bryce mumbles, looking mortified, and Jared glares daggers at his dad, though unfortunately he doesn’t seem even remotely affected by it. This is already a disaster, and they haven’t even sat down for dinner yet.

*

Dinner is — 

Dinner sucks.

Erin doesn’t say a thing, which is weird — like, normal if it was just the four of them, but _super_ weird because she has the ability to mortify Jared in front of his boyfriend right now. Jared would think mom and dad asked her not to, except they keep shooting baffled glances at her, so maybe not. Apparently Bryce has rendered her speechless, and that would be enough to make Jared bring him around _all the time_ except for…everything else. 

Bryce looks the kind of nervous that would usually prompt chatter, but he’s quiet instead, beyond thanking Jared’s mom when she passes him his plate of chicken parmesan and a ‘water’s fine, thanks’ when she asks what he wants to drink. 

“You’re from Vancouver?” his mom asks, after an uncomfortable minute, and it’s kind of weird, because like, Jared didn’t tell her that. He guesses it can’t really be an organic ‘getting to know you’ when Bryce’s life is written up on Wikipedia, and on TV, as well as his goals, assists, penalty minutes, they might mention his height or weight, his birthday, his hometown. 

It’s something Jared’s going to have to adjust to himself, sooner rather than later, complete strangers knowing major things about him. They already talk about that stuff with the Hitmen, and you can look up Jared’s weight gain, or lack thereof, online, but he knows it’s going to be a whole different thing, depending on the market, if — _when_ — he hits the NHL.

“Richmond,” Bryce says. “Which is like, in the Vancouver area, yeah.”

“And your parents are still there?” she asks.

“My mom is,” Bryce says.

“What does she do?” his mom asks, and Jared intellectually knows she’s trying to be polite, not like, interrogate him, but it feels like an interrogation to him, and probably even more like one to Bryce, who looks kind of cornered. 

“My mom’s—” Bryce says. “She does a lot of charity stuff?”

“And your father?” she asks.

“He’s um,” Bryce says, pokes at his chicken. “He died when I was a kid.”

“Oh,” his mom says, gives Jared this look like she’s mad at him for not saying anything. Jared’s mad at himself for not saying anything, honestly, because even if it’s not like, his thing to tell, he hates the look on Bryce’s face right now. “I’m sorry.”

“Long time ago,” Bryce mumbles.

“The Flames are doing well so far,” his mom says, a little strained.

“Not as strong a start as the Hitmen,” his dad says. “But I doubt you’ve been paying much attention tothe WHL.”

His mom elbows him unsubtly, and Jared sends her a mental thank you.

“I’ve been to a couple Hitmen games so far this season,” Bryce says. “I got WHL Live, so—”

“You did?” Jared interrupts.

“Yeah,” Bryce says. “I’ve been trying to keep up. You guys are looking great. The PP is awesome right now.”

His dad looks like he honestly doesn’t know whether to be annoyed Bryce directly contradicted his assumptions or to go on a pro-Jared spiel the way he usually does when the subject of the Hitmen comes up.

“Jared’s fitting in well on PP 1,” he opts for in the end, and they veer to the somewhat safe zone of hockey, stay there for the rest of dinner. His dad puts in a few jabs — look, Jared is not impressed how often Bryce goes to the box, no Flames fan is happy about it, but he finds himself bristling defensively when his dad calls Bryce out on it — but it goes way better than the start of it. Still, Jared’s relieved when it’s over.

“Why don’t you show Bryce your room?” his mom asks, and he’s torn between grateful and mortified because he can’t exactly demur without it looking weird, and there is like…an embarrassing amount of Flames merch up there considering Bryce is, you know. A Flame.

“Sure,” Jared says, “Good dinner, mom.”

“Everything was delicious, thank you Mrs. Matheson,” Bryce says, getting up.

“Susan,” she says, as Bryce follows Jared into the hall, and then, “Door open! And he can’t stay long, you’ve got an early bus tomorrow.”

“So uh,” Jared says, when they get to his room, closing the door as much as possible without actually shutting it. “I’m so, so sorry about my family.” 

“They were nice,” Bryce says, which is patently untrue, and Jared snorts.

“I mean,” Bryce says. “Your sister was a lot nicer than I expected, like, from what you’ve said about her.”

“Pretty sure that’s because she has a crush on you,” Jared says, and Bryce is the one snorting this time, like that’s ridiculous, and c’mon, has he _seen_ himself? “My dad was a dick.”

Bryce shrugs a little. “I get, like, being protective of you,” he says. “And I’m not like — he wasn’t wrong about…I’m actually not allowed to drink anything before I drive right now, I wasn’t planning on drinking the wine or anything, my mom just told me that’s like, what you bring.”

“Wine?” Jared says. “And flowers? _And_ chocolates?” 

“I wanted, to like,” Bryce says, fiddles with a pen on Jared’s desk. “I wanted them to like me,” he says, voice a little small.

“If they don’t, fuck ‘em,” Jared says. “I like you.”

Bryce doesn’t look reassured, and fuck, like, wearing out the words, sometimes the situation calls for it. 

“I love you,” Jared says, and leans in to kiss the edge of the smile that tugs the corner of Bryce’s mouth in response.

“Jared’s got his door shut!” Erin calls from the hallway, back to her monster self, and Jared groans and knocks his head against Bryce’s shoulder before going to pull the door open before he gets in shit.


End file.
